Toy Titans
by San K. Darkchild
Summary: AU: When the death of their creator leaves them without a guide, a band of magic living toys must make a dangerous journey across the city to another toyshop. During these trials they will discover the bonds of friendship, love and betrayal. BBRae/RobStar
1. Chapter 1

Robin the action figure was standing very still on the toymaker's bench, looking through the casement window at the dark blue-black storm clouds rolling in from the eastern sky. For the first time since his creation he was filled with a deep sadness---and fear.

This was a dark day, he thought, and shuddered.

Stripped of leaves, the fall trees were bare, like many armed skeletons. The warm tone of red of the setting suns light was fading quickly. Soon night would fall, without any of the moon's gentle light. The oncoming storm would see to blotting out the stars and the moon's face.

To Robin, it seemed as if the dawn light would never rise again, as if the world would remain in the dark stormy gloom.

The day had not only been grim simply because of the weather but because Sir Alfred, the toymaker, was dead. To his creations, the magical toy figurines that he had called his Toy Titans, he was "Uncle Alfred," and they were all deeply struck and well…frightened by his passing.

For many weeks the old man had known he was slipping closer to death. The end had come even quicker however than he, him-self, had expected. This morning he had remarked quietly to himself that he felt tired and had retired himself to a nap before afternoon tea. He passed away peacefully in his sleep.

A man, who owned a toy shop and sold Alfred's creations, had come to pick up a recent shipment of merchandise and had discovered that the old thin man's nap had become deeper than he had intended. While all the toys and figurines sat or stood poised on shelves and benches, pretending to be still and without life, this kind man called the doctor. The doctor came, carrying a bag filled with his tools and medicines. Seeing the physician, the Toy Titans had secretly harbored a surge of hope. But eventually….Alfred's body had been taken away.

Now the figures and toys were aloe in the rambling old house that had been Sir Alfred's workplace and home. It was still the home of Trusted Toys, the beloved old man's small company. The grief that hung in the air that Robin the action figure felt it pressing into his joints, making them heavy.  
He might have wept if the figure could have formed tears. With his great skill and magic, Alfred had given life to the toys and figures he had molded. But Robin was still only a toy, after all. He would never produce tears, no matter how he would ache to shed them.

Behind Robin, in Alfred's workshop, some other's sobbed. Like him, they were unable to weep, but they could make the soft sounds of grief. Robin would not allow himself to admit one whimper or cry. He had to be strong, for Alfred had chosen him to lead the other Toy Titans in this terrible time.

Last week, Alfred had taken Robin into the back study at the other end of the house, where they could have a private conversation. The toymaker sat behind his dark cherry wood desk while Robin stood on top of it, basking in the off glow of stained glass from the lamp. The old man had talked about Robin's destiny and had revealed to him a handful of secrets…

Leaning back in his big leather covered char, Uncle Alfred folded his aged but still strong hands across his stomach. Peering at Robin over the tops of his gold-speckled reading glasses, he said, "You know the reason you were made, of course, the reason I made all of you Toy Titans…"

Robin stood straighter and held his chin proudly. "Of course I do. One day I'll be put on display in a toy shop. I'll be sold as a gift for a very special boy who'll desperately need a hero in a secret friend. Why?" The end of his speech felt a little wary.

"That's correct." Alfred smiled and nodded a patient approval. "It will be a small boy who, if he grows up whole and happy, will contribute something of importance to this world. A special child, as you have said. But this will be a child who has to face enormous problems or who will face terrible heartbreak and adversity. Perhaps it may even be a child whose parents mistreat him— "

"Or maybe one who may fall ill and need large amounts of courage to pull through it," Robin said solemnly. "Or a child whose mom or dad dies…or a child who isn't loved."

"Yes. But whatever the "child's" problems are, you will be there to offer counsel, comfort and courage. You must help the child to grow up confident and loving, regardless of what cruelties this world inflicts on him. Because, you see, this special little boy or girl that any Toy Titan will have will perhaps become a doctor that will save lives, or a diplomat that works towards peace, or a teacher…if they can grow up whole and happy. If the child is broken by the tragedies he must endure, then he will lose his chance to make our often dark world a better place."

Standing on the desk in the light of stained-glass, his multi-jointed brightly painted legs planted apart, leaning back on the balls of his also jointed steel plated boots, Robin sighed. "It will be a great responsibility for us."

"Tremendous," Alfred agreed with him. "And you must always remember that you and the other Toy Titans have to conceal your missions from everyone----except, from each other and from your assigned children. In the privacy of that child's room, you'll be a living hero, but to the rest of the world you will have to pretend to be only a child's favorite toy."

"I'm good at that," Robin chuckled. He went stiff, his eyes covered by a mask that would never reveal life. Even so, his painted eyes went still as if plastic.

"Very good," Sir Alfred said. "Excellent!"

Robin again looked smug, as he became expressive and warm again.

"If you let another child or any adult see your magical life, you won't remain effective as a secret hero for your assigned child."

"Yes, sir," Robin said. He understood too perfectly what noise could be made in the news world about a living toy…and the repercussions that were sure to follow.

It was also known to him that, once his assigned child's crises had passed, when a personal hero of his own was no longer needed, the magical life would drain out of Robin, as it would out of any Toy Titan sooner or later. Then he would just be an action figure, just like any other. In time his special child would forget that Robin had really been alive. Their secret conversations and adventures would seem to have been fantasies, mere games that the child had played before growing into the world of adults and finding real heroes. That fading of his life was a most difficult thing to accept for Robin. But he understood that this true magic was only for children and would only confuse and frighten adults. Many people had been guided by a Toy Titan in troubled youth, but all forgot the truth as they grew up. It bothered Robin that he could only be a true hero for one, and for only so long.

Robin walked around the stain-glass lamp, stepping over the cord all the while frowning at the oak desktop. "Something I've been wondering about," he said in a gruff voice which should have seemed much too deep for his wiry body, but strangely fit him at times. "What happens when the life goes out of me, Uncle Alfred? Do I have a soul? Does my soul even go to heaven or some other place? Or do I simply cease to exist? Is THAT one of the secrets you've brought me here to tell about?"

Alfred shook his silver head. His fine white and gray hair gleamed like moonlight. "No, I can't tell you that, Robin. What comes after life must remain a mystery to you, just as it is a mystery to all things that live…including me."

Even then Robin had known that Uncle Alfred was dying. The old toymaker had not hidden his ailing health from his creations. In fact he had tried to encourage them of this future, to get used to the idea. A new magic toymaker would have to be chosen during the next weeks. And when Uncle Alfred died, those Toy Titans still in shop would have to help that new come toymaker.

A few days ago, when Uncle Alfred told them all, that he, their maker, would soon trade this world for another…most of the Toy Titans pretended to be strong and stone-hearted. They pretended to accept his approaching death with regret and grace, but gentle-hearted Starfire had whimpered her non-existent tears in clear sight. She alone showed all her emotions as she felt them, her grief was made known to all the Toy Titans although they were just as sick with grief and fear as well.

"Death," Uncle Alfred had told her, "is not an end. It is only a station between two places in a never-ending story. There's a new beginning, a new chapter beyond death. Don't be afraid for me. I'm merely going on to a new life of some kind that I can't imagine but I know will be even better than the one I have lived already."

"But we will be doing the missing of you," Starfire the Japanese ball-jointed doll had told him, unable to hide or conceal her misery.

"And I'll miss you," he said. "But I will never forget you. In memory we will always be together."

"Memory?" Beast Boy, the transforming toy had said whining, brash as usual. He cocked his head in the direction of his one protruding fang, as if its weight was pulling him over on his side---and he had squinted at the toymaker. "Memory's not good enough. Memory fades…"

"Mine doesn't," said Cyborg the half man, half robot action figure.

"Well, Mr. Microchip brain, everybody else's memory fades."

"Too bad everyone can't back up files," Cyborg retorted.

"Tofu forbid!" Beast Boy declared. "Dude, if there were Cyborg's everywhere then every living creature would have been eaten, and died off age's ago. A Walking Stomach, that's what you are! Can you imagine that arrogance on every face when they win some old Atari game?" Before Cyborg could answer, Beast boy had turned back to Uncle Alfred again and said, "No, Al, having you in memory isn't good enough by half."

"I'm afraid it will have to be good enough," Alfred had said quietly but firmly to Beast Boy.

And now, in his study, he was equally quiet and firm with Robin. "Worry about _this_ life, Robin. Worry about being a hero in this world. The next world, whatever it is, will take care of itself."

Though he was only an action figure, Robin had a good solid personality. He wasn't always patient, but he always tended think about all the possibilities before acting. So he stared at Uncle Alfred for a while, finally slowly nodded, and sat down on the desk's inkwell with his arms crossed and said, "Fine," which was his way of saying, "All right, okay, I guess I'm agreeable to that."

Leaning forward in his chair, closer to the lamp, Alfred said, "But I _will_ tell you the symbol beyond the one on your chest, the symbol which is on your belt and on every Toy Titan. The Symbol you were given first."

Robin's mask widened as the eyes did underneath. "You will?" Ever since he had come alive on the man's work table a few month's ago, Robin had wondered about the symbolic T on his belt's communicator. "Will you really tell me why I had it first?"

"Titans," Uncle Alfred said.

"I'm sorry?"

"The mothers and fathers of all the Greek gods and predicted to be the last gods at the end of the world. They were overthrown by their children, and imprisoned while Zeus reigned."

Frowning, Robin said," Well that doesn't sound good."

Alfred leaned even closer, until his kind face was like the moon hanging over Robin's whole world. "After I have passed away, there may be a time when the new toymaker is not always in charge. After all, it takes a while to be able to wear someone else's shoes comfortable, especially when filled with magic. During the time when they are not in control…there may be trouble, danger…"

"What kind of trouble? What kind of danger?" Robin asked, his pale molded face settling into a scowl.

Alfred hesitated. Then he sighed. "You'll know it when it comes. And then you'll be first among the Toy Titans, the leader of them in any time of crisis."

"Me? Leader? Hmmmmmmm. But what if—"

"Yes, you can lead them, Robin. I _made_ you a leader."

Pride surged through Robin, and he sat straighter, puffed out his brightly painted chest a bit. He considered what Uncle Alfred has said, then nodded. "All right. I'll lead them. You can count on me…as long as there's no imprisonment involved."

Alfred chuckled and then considered him seriously. "You will be the first to confront trouble."

"Yes, Uncle Alfred, I will." Robin said, though he had no idea what sort of trouble he might have to confront. He hoped those hours of studying fighting games on the old toymaker's television with Beast Boy and Cyborg, and the physical practice afterwards, would come in handy at last.

"And you will be the _last_ to turn away from it."

Robin then stood, squared his shoulders, and nodded.

The wire-rims on the old toymaker's reading glasses glinted with light from the stained-glass lamp. Spots of different green's and blues were reflected in one side. In spite of this cheerful exchange, Uncle Alfred was somber, not like himself at all when alone with the Toy Titans. "In bad times, you will be the first to give heart to your team mates and friends---and the very last to be dejected. You'll be first in courage and the last to be afraid."

"Me?" Robin said, his mask raising much like an eyebrow over on one side. "Afraid? Not me. I'm not afraid of anything. No al, not me."

"But there are things in this world that you _should_ be afraid of, Robin."

Robin hesitated, as Alfred never lied to him. "I should?" He asked uneasily, he did not know fear yet.

"And should you encounter them---_when_ you encounter them—you'll feel the cold grip of fear."

"Will I?" He cocked his head to one side.

"But you must be the last to give in to it."

"I promise," Robin said.

That had been less than a week ago. Now as Robin the action figure stood on the age-worn work table and stared out at the oncoming fall storm and at the descending twilight, he felt gripped not only by grief but by that cold fear. Uncle Alfred was dead. The old man had thought he had weeks of life left to him. But now he was gone, and things that should have been done before he passed on---such as choosing a new magic toymaker---remained unfinished.

Lighting from the oncoming storm flickered along the edge of the dark clouds. The red of the setting sun was turning dark purple behind the clouds as it went farther and farther from the sky. It would soon be dark.

Robin turned from the painted window and surveyed the workroom. In spite of its size, it was warm and cozy…and all Robin had ever known. The walls were cream colored, the floor and high framed ceilings of oak wood. All the shelving, tool cabinets and work benches also of the same dark oak. Despite the warmth, a damp chill reached into every corner in the room.

The other Toy Titans grew quiet when Robin turned away from the window and faced them. Twenty-two of their magic kind was gathered in the workshop, the only one's who had not been sent off to toy shops before Alfred's death. There were action figures, though none quite like Robin, for each Toy Titan was different from any other. There were dolls of all makes---French, Japanese and even Barbie like molds and more. Toy soldiers and figures that could transform into other shapes. (Alfred went through a phase of trying out foreign toys)There were some even more modern, like Cyborg.

They stood in small groups on the floor below Robin, or huddled singly in corners. As he noted the ball-jointed witch Raven did. Some perched on the tops of cabinets, looking down at Robin, while others sat in stunned silence where Alfred had slept on the couch only hours ago.

Robin swallowed a moan of grief and jumped down from the work table to the stool on which Uncle Alfred had sat when painting and putting the final touch on his creations, and sewing. From his this slightly lower perch, he addressed the assembled Toy Titans: "We have a difficult and dangerous mission to perform, and we must act…tonight."

* * *

Okay. So I haven't written in a long time. I read a book like this long ago, and while it will be similar to this in the beginning it will change as it goes on. The idea was nagging for quite a bit! It's also been a while since I've taken any stab at fan fiction so while I love critique please be kind and honest. Review! Tell me if you want me to continue!


	2. A forebading cellar

Sorry about the wait! I really wanted to post this a while ago, but my cat had her kittens a week earlier than planned. Despite our best efforts, two kittens were lost. We really did try, and between work, classes, Anime Detour and all that…well this became lost on the list of things to do. Thank you for your patience! Now onto an even darker chapter two.

Two floors below the warmth of the workshop, in the toy factory's forgotten sub cellar hidden away under the known cellar, all was dark and still and musty as things had been for many a decade.

Then a light appeared in the damp darkness. No one had turned on this light. It just came alight on its own accord, or as if an invisible hand had flicked a switch.

At first, it was not much of a light. Much like a flickering ancient light bulb, pumping its last light into the world. Dim like a cold winter moon. So most of the deep cellar remained cloaked in its black gloom. Nothing could be seen except for the stone floor and stacks of old wooden crates.

_D.S. Toys_ was imprinted on every side of every crate, for that was the initials and name of the company that had worked the toy factory before Alfred had founded Trusted Toys. These boxes of various sizes were cocooned in cobwebs, weighted by years of dust's collection. Their lids were hidden by nearly an inch of blanketed dust and spider's off cast homes.

Something thumped in that darkness.

Something creaked.

Suddenly a shiny blade stuck up through the crack between the lid and the side of one of the crates. Something within this crate was prying its way out. Wood splintered with a dry sound of age. An old nail began to pull loose with a series of forced squeaks.

A disturbed spider scuttled down a trembling web to vanish into the darkness.

The gleaning blade moved along the crack inch by inch, prying at the lid, and one by one the nails pulled loose of its wood. Then the lid was thrown back, and Slade emerged from the crate that for decades had been his tomb.

Slade was a tall, slim but well-built action figure. It was if he was a ninja whose mask become all wrong, his armor in orange-red and black seemed almost that of a mismatched jester, but the only eye that gleamed from his mask shown only a dead-seriousness. That eye had a cold, wild look as he slowly took stock of the shadows around him.

The action figure's silver armor was tarnished and soiled with rust and questionably stains. His body suit was filmed with dust, and the coiled wraps around his wrists eaten away by moths, so that they hung in tatters off of his arms.

Cobwebs wound around him as he stepped out from his wooden prison. He brushed them coldly off his shoulders and legs. If he could have smiled through his mask, it would have been calculating and without humor or warmth. His mask was blank, as if no more than a robot's face. Only that eye was alive, even if it was a freezing stare.

"Alive," he said, and his voice echoed eerily through the darkened sub-cellar.  
"At last, alive again."

He carried a sleek staff, from the ends a gleaming steel blade shown. When he touched a button on the side, the knives snapped back into the inside of the staff, entirely hidden.

The dim white light from the stained chandelier gradually began to brighten. Farther away in the vast storage room, another one came on and it too began to glow steadily brighter.

The deep cellar seemed like a hibernating creature that was finally awakening.

Slade laughed. It was a cold, mean laugh.

Unlike the Toy Titans two floors above, Slade was not a good toy.

I know it's short, but writing during a cold it's hard to think or plot for too long. Looks like my evil plans for stealing cookies will have to wait…as will Slade's plans. Who knows what they are??!


End file.
